


Homecomings

by Strain_of_the_Stress



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, Mass Effect 3, Shakarian - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-08 13:59:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4307769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strain_of_the_Stress/pseuds/Strain_of_the_Stress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kathryn Shepard, Alliance N7 and one of the most prominent Alliance Officers to date, takes on The Reapers with Garrus by her side and The Normandy under her command as The Reapers invade and she endeavors to save all of sentient civilization.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Leaving Sol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Kathryn and the Normandy leave Earth, we get to see a little bit more of her interact with her crew.

Normandy Docking Bay, 0930 Hours

“Forget it! Drop me off someplace. ‘cause I’m not leaving.”

Vega didn’t even finish the phrase before he found himself facing a Commander Shepard in full form, pointing at him with a look of intensity that appeared to be able to melt steel.

“Enough, Lieutenant!” The words came out at speaking volume, but her tone was sharp enough and her words clipped enough that Vega flinched, clenching his jaw slightly and taking a half a step backwards, the reaction unexpected. He had been watching The Commander for eight months, seen her get angry, frustrated, depressed even, but he had never seen this. She was not yelling, not screaming at him about the necessity of the fight or the whininess of his statement, instead she was standing and pointing, upright as always and seeming to be poised on the balls of her feet. Her eyes were burning holes into hers, her lips had tightened and her eyes narrowed, her eyebrows coming down over her eyes. The rest of her felt to be made out of steel, titanium, stronger than vega could ever hope to challenge and fiercely determined, an aura of power emanating from her form. She might have been standing, but Vega might as well have gone against a steel wall.

Vega stopped talking immediately at Shepard’s command as she pivoted on her left right foot, bringing her left square with him and shoulder width apart, her hands coming down to her waist. She continued, voice quieter than even her speaking voice, but sharper than an omniblade and dangerously precise. Vega quietly listened, automatically clasping his arms behind his back as the woman looked him straight in the eye and continued.

“Lieutenant, I know you want to go back to Earth and join the fight. I understand it. But we are leaving, to gain support for this fight. This is not a war we can win on our own, and I am not about to sit by and let millions of people die while the other races try to figure out how to cooperate. So yes, we’re leaving. And no, we are not dropping you off. Because I need people like you, good soldiers, good men, backing me up in this fight. If I have to pull rank on this, don’t think I’ll hesitate to do so. But you are staying, and we are going to get more help. Do I make myself clear?”

The last sentence came like a guilloteine blade, hanging dangerously over Vega’s neck as he continued to stare down at Shepard, his eyes locked in her intensely blue stare. He swallowed subconsciously, swore internally, and answered almost robotically “Yes, ma’am.” as Shepard nodded her head. Looking at him with a less intense gaze, she replied calmly “Ma’am is good, in a crunch, but I prefer Commander, Lieutenant.” Again, his robotic response came almost without thinking “Aye ma’am.”

Turning back towards the console for which she was originally aiming, Shepard continued right as Vega had started to relax his back and was walking over to the communications terminal he had pulled up at the station across from The Commander, intending to monitor the war on Earth. The Commander’s voice this time was softer, more instructionary, clearly meant less to yell and more to instruct, explain. Nonetheless, it still carried a cold sense of invitation for Vega to challenge The Commander again, one he was not eager to take. He stood by, with his hands clasped behind his back, as he listened.

“I know you want to go back, Vega. Really, I understand. That was my first reaction when Anderson told me to leave too. But us staying on Earth and dying trying to hold off an attack we can’t stave off at this point isn’t going to do anything for the war. Securing support from the other races will. And at the end of the day, we go where we do the most good.”  

“Yes, ma’am.”

Out came the call from Hackett, calling them away to Mars. Out came Joker from his pilots seat, a familiar voice without which any Normandy would feel incomplete and which was entirely devoid of even the slightest bit of sarcasm or witticism which was so often a stable of Joker’s phraseology. Off came the torn and dirtied and bloody (though she couldn’t tell which was hers and which wasn’t) service armor and out came the N7 Undersuit, the material feeling slightly unfamiliar beneath her hands but at the same time exceptionally welcome.

As they approached Mars, Shepard stood in her stateroom, one hand on her hip while the other gripped her coffee mug, staring and watching the fish. She had already dressed in her Hardsuit’s under layer, even going so far as to put on the boots, but the rest she was foregoing until they got the within orbit signal from Joker, and was currently thinking about what she had yet heard from Hackett.

_Liara T’Soni. I haven’t gotten anything from her in months. Well, eight months to be precise. After about the third un-returned message I sort of… gave up, but still… Last time we had any kind of a hiatus, she had turned into an infamous information broker and seemed to be aiming for the Aria of Illium. I’d prefer not to be “flayed alive with her mind”, but I suppose if that’s what it takes to get her support. What even is the information she has?_

Shepard was shaken from her thoughts by the door chime. Turning to her left, she called out “Enter” while making her way to her desk chair, sitting down right as Williams entered the room.

Thankfully, and unlike the majority of people upon first entering the captain’s stateroom, Williams did not stare, did not gawk, didn’t even comment on how oversized it was. Instead, she took four smart steps before standing in front of Shepard, turning to face The Commander and snapping to attention, a perfectly rendered salute making an appearance before Shepard could wave it down.

“Ma’am.”

Shepard waved Williams’ salute down, shaking her head slightly amusedly but not smiling, her face remaining unmoved. Williams moved her hand down but maintained a strict attention, ram-rod straight as always, but not tense. Military service and bearing had always fit her comfortably, seeming neither out of place nor overly tense as it did on so many other service members whose backs felt too straight and heads forcedly high. When Shepard spoke, her tone was neither hostile nor encouraging, instead measuredly neutral, one which had been practiced through many years of military practice. She looked Williams in the eye, though she was still staring a thousand meters over Shepard’s head.

“This is an operational vessel, L-C, save the salutes for our victory parade. And stand at ease, like I said: operational vessel.”

Williams moved with drilled precision, feet snapping to shoulder width and her hands coming behind her back, her head breaking out of its previously locked position, looking Shepard in the eye. Williams reported, voice kept level, handing Shepard a datapad when she continued. Shepard smiled internally at the professionalism, appreciating the display on Williams’ part.

“Ma’am, what crew was on-board when we launched has fallen into their stations, and we’re currently sailing at best-possible-speed for the Mars archives, estimate arrival in an hour, according to my latest report from Joker. I’ve received word from Alliance Command, or at least, what’s left of it, that there is a skeleton crew waiting for us on The Citadel. Only a few people above the minimum for operating her, but we should have a full complement for our War Room.”

Shepard took the datapad and looked down to read it, sipping her coffee with her right hand. When she had finished perusing, she quickly transferred its contents to her own terminal before handing it back to Williams.

“Very well, thank-you L-C. Exactly how many crew do we have on board?”

“Twenty seven crew, ma’am, including you and myself.”

“And the compliment we’re looking at when we arrive at the Citadel?”

“The report said one hundred and twenty seven, ma’am.”

Shepard nodded, grimacing inside at the lack of crew currently but showing nothing on her face. _Damn, twenty seven crew members. If we get caught by any kind of a Reaper attack, it’s not going to be pretty._ Shepard nodded again, looking back up at Williams as she heard a call come over the comm in her room.

“Commander, we’re about thirty minutes away from shuttle-drop for Mars, thought you should know.”

Standing up, Shepard looked to Ashley, who looked about ready to spring from her spot but was clearly waiting to be dismissed. _Like the excellent soldier she is._

“Dismissed, Williams. Go suit up and tell Vega to do the same, I want both of you with me when we hit the ground.”

Another snap to attention, another salute, another “Aye ma’am” before Williams pulled a sharp right-face and exited the room as Shepard walked over to her wall, extracting the remainder of her N7 armor from her locker and replacing the pieces.

Normandy War Room, 1300

“It’ll be a helluva short war if they don’t.”

With that, Shepard stepped out of the War Room, leaving Liara standing there, looking rather crestfallen. It had been interesting, perhaps a little odd, to see some of Liara’s old innocence come back, the hardened Shadow Broker giving way to the more innocent Asari Archeologist as she and Shepard discussed the super-weapon. Shepard couldn’t blame her, she was longing just as much as Liara was for this weapon to work, felt the deaths of millions of innocent souls perhaps more acutely weigh on her heart, the problem was years of military service, as well as a lone-survivor event, left Shepard much more hardened than a few months as an information broker had Liara. She wanted to hope, it would be so easy to wish it so and have faith in some immutable force within the galaxy that would protect her and the trillions of others at threat for this war; but fubar was a word too often used in her vocabulary for hope to be a commodity.

She stomped through the security scanner, stopping to oblige the privates standing outside of it, distress clear in their voice as they asked her to “Please step forwards, ma’am.” The CIC was as quiet as she had ever heard it, perhaps with the exception of when it was operating with no crew, the empty seats save for a few distressing and not at all reflecting the hectic chaos of destruction which was raging on countless systems across the galaxy.

The elevator slid open and Shepard stepped in, selecting her cabin, walking through the stateroom doors and placing her armor in the auto-cleaner, listening to it whir as she closed the door, all the dust and debris from mars wiping off the ablative plating much faster than the distress and worry was her mind. She opened her closet drawers, pulling out a new service-uniform, the shirt and pants pressed and clean, her shoulder pads impeccable as well. Unlike many of her colleagues from basic training to OCS to ICT who viewed the Service Uniform as an “unkempt” uniform, letting it not quite develop wrinkles but certainly lose the clean creases that the uniform came with; Shepard was always one to keep her uniform orderly and well-pressed, composed and sharp becoming a quick part of her reputation. She had never been one to be slovenly, staying well-dressed even when in deep space for weeks as a child, and when she first showed up at Basic her uniform was already impeccable; but as she watched more of her friends get docked and judged and found guilty for crimes they had not yet even committed based off of the appearance of their uniforms, she learned that it was safest to put all the more work in to keep hers impeccable, a kempt uniform acting as armor just as much as her hardsuit.

Within ten minutes of entering Shepard left her stateroom, entering the elevator and riding it down to the cargo bay, being greeted by a large, empty hold with the exception of heavy moving sounds from a break in the crates. Curious, Shepard walked over towards the port side, being greeted first by a scaffolding and drape that looked like a structure out of a forward operating base moreso than a section of an Alliance Warship’s cargo hold, and then by one Mr. Vega moving an impressive weight set back into what appeared to be his living area. Shepard cleared her throat lightly, causing Vega to put the weights down, spin on his heel, and salute. _Again, with the salutes. I’m not saying I don’t appreciate them, but this is not the place._ Shepard returned the salute before talking, placing her hands on her hips, a less aggressive version of the posture she had used with him earlier.

“At ease, Mr. Vega, save the salutes for a  parade.”

Unlike with Ashley, Shepard and Vega had been building a raport for the past eight months, his role as her guard and her alarming lack of people to talk to besides boards and hearings leading to quite a few conversations. She still did not know his history, he was rather quiet on that subject whenever she pried, and he knew he had heard rumors of what she had done to land herself off of active duty, but really did not know what had happened between the Battle of the Citadel and his assignment, but they had developed an odd friendship that was based more on common roles as alliance marines than anything else, personal history and information unnecessary. However loathe he would be to admit it, speaking with her had actually been his motivation to submit an application to ICT.

Vega stood easily, leaning against the weapons bench which he had brought into his little nook, nodding as he did so.

“Alright, Commander, we’ll save ‘em. You down here for something?”

“Just wanted to find out how you were doing, especially after that stunt in the shuttle.”

Vega laughed, looking down and kicking his boot against the ground, not noticing the steel which had entered Shepard’s eyes and her distinct lack of laughter.

“Eh, survived well enough. At least no more brain damage than usual.”

“Good. Then maybe you’ll be able to explain to me exactly why you thought crashing my shuttle into a Cerberus one, when your cannons were tested, loaded, and fully functional, was anything like a good decision?”

Again, she had never raised her voice, hostility didn’t even seem to be terribly present. But the words were delivered with such a deliberate incisiveness, no malice but just a hard question, that Vega picked himself up, standing to the formal at-ease.

“Commander?”

“I didn’t stutter, James.”

Vega did when he replied, tripping over his words slightly at an action that, with individuals he normally interacted with, would have been receiving praise and slaps on the back.

“Uh.. well… The guns needed to be aimed… and I didn’t have a firing solution… and turbulence was really bad. So I thought ramming, especially with some of the added plating on the fronts of those shuttles, would be the best option. Uh, ma’am.”

Shepard raised an eyebrow at Vega, at which his head dipped a little bit and he looked up at her, shrugging his shoulders slightly, looking strangely like a sad puppy for such a tank of a man. Shepard closed her eyes, sighing out of her nose as she bowed her head, bringing her right hand up to massage the bridge of her nose, an action Vega had seen many times, mainly whenever a hearing or board proved particularly frustrating or inane. When Shepard spoke again, her voice was softer, still not to be questioned and sounding every bit a superior officer, but with more the tones of a personal appeal than a military dressing down.

“Look, Vega. Truth be told, I understand why you did it, don’t think I didn’t have my years of reckless stupidity. I understand you’re angry, afraid, on edge, and sitting in a shuttle or even shooting something from a shuttle isn’t quite enough to handle that. But we need you, not dead in a crashed shuttle or a reckless charge, but fighting on our front line. You’re…”

“Commander, there’s been a change in Lieutenant Commander Williams’ condition.”

The call came over Shepard’s comms, her hand rising instinctively to the micro earpiece she wore, listening intently. Before the statement was finished, some servicemen’s name who she didn’t know and didn’t need to, she was jogging to the door, casting a glance over the back of her right shoulder, yelling at Vega.

“We’ll finish this later. Williams needs me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, after the little character sketch I put out yesterday, I really wanted to explore Shepard interacting with her crew more, explore Kathryn’s command presence a bit more. While still kind of in the “testing” stage, still figuring out how well I think this character works out, after this and the last chapter I think it’s safe to say I like her, and she’s probably going to keep going. Especially since I started an ME3 playthrough with her today, hence why this chapter took a step back plotwise from where we were yesterday.  
> Hopefully this chapter did a better job of providing some context and insight into Kathryn as a Commander, a little bit more to her as a leader than we saw last time. I’m going to try and stay away from telling you what to look for, but please – tell me what you think! I’ve gotten some great feedback on my Reunions fic, I’d love some feedback on this one too.  
> oh, for those of you new here, this chapter was actually written after Chapter 2... 
> 
> Regardless, enjoy!  
> SotS


	2. Chapter 2

Normandy Deck 1, 1500 Hours

Commander Kathryn Shepard stood immediately inside the door after she entered the stateroom, frozen in place as she looked ahead with glassy eyes. Her eyes blinked unconsciously as the wall on the far side of the room fell in and out of focus with her breathing, her heart pounding in her chest. Her mind felt like it was racing down and endless road, moving its mental gears as quickly as she could but still going nowhere. Everything was numb as her chest burned and adrenaline pulled the pit of her stomach to her feet.

_Menae. We’re going to Menae. Palaven’s moon. Nobody’s heard from the Turians since the attack, goodness knows how far to shit it’s gone. And him…_

At this she blinked hard, shaking her head to the right while she inhaled deeply, clenching her fists together tightly as she walked stiffly to the bed, removing her boots and placing them precisely centered at the foot of the bed. She could still smell the sterile cleanliness of the  hospital room mixed with the iron sting of Ashley’s blood, running down her face and neck after moving her had reopened some of her wounds,  the face of death reflecting in the red rivulets as she ran behind the medics. Soon antiseptic yielded to cherry blossoms, a smell which had become associated with disappointment since her selection for spectre, the sceptic sweetness filling her nostrils as empty words did her ears. And yet, all she could focus on was the sound of the Turian Councilor as he told her about Menae, about the summit.

She breathed in again, deeply through her nose, releasing the air slowly, if not calming herself than at the very least steeling herself. She stood up, walking with sharp and precise steps to the terminal, her heels hitting as if she were still wearing boots, bruising her feet, but the pain was not unwelcome, grounding almost. The chair turned under her hand with savage speed as she threw herself into it, quickly bringing up her terminal and beginning to read the multitude of reports, a deluge of information sent by Alliance Control, calls for help by any means from the helpless souls on the ground, the reinstatement message placing her in command of The Normandy from Anderson. As she read she could feel her blood pressure rise, her lips pursing and her eyes narrowing, tension becoming the defining factor across her body.

A beep from her terminal broke her from her thoughts.

Inhaling sharply through her nose, she turned towards it, pressing the answer icon with direct, deliberate movements.

“Shepard.”

“Commander, course laid in for Palaven, waiting your word.”

With unusual military bearing  Joker sounded out across the room, his voice echoing against the empty metal bulkheads. Shepard gently closed her eyes as she heard his statement, no sound made but the planet name biting nonetheless.

“Lieutenant, I’m giving the word. Engage.”

“Aye aye Commander”

With that Kathryn put her hands on her legs and pushed herself up, the chair scooting backwards until it impacted the wall behind her. She walked, marched rather, to the small coffee machine on the table, watching with a blank face as the hot black liquid began to pour into the too white cup. _A starship captain should never have a coffee cup that clean._

When the machine was finished she took a sip almost immediately, welcoming the burn from the heat and bitterness from the coffee, both helping to ward off the numbness she had developed when meeting with the councilors that had only gotten worse with the reports she read. She paced, gently, around the stateroom, tracing the same path over and over while staring at the deck plating four feet in front of her. Again her mind raced but went nowhere. Again she felt numb, but for the searing relief of the steaming cup. Again she finished by standing still and taking a deep breath in through her nose and out through her mouth.

Setting her mug down she walked over to her bed, sitting down and replacing her boots, fitting the tuck in her pants. Though she hadn’t been out of them for longer than half an hour, replacing them on her feet gave her exit from the stateroom a feeling of new-beginnings, as though putting on her boots initiated her task, setting her feet literally and figuratively on the way. She stood up, finishing her coffee as she passed the table, stepping forwards before stopping next to the head, backtracking two steps and walking in.

The mirror was a typical starship mirror, polished metal rather than any actual glass or synthetic glass-like compound used in residential bathrooms. While she had never received a full explanation, there were numerous rumors about it, everything from the glass too risky in case of rapid depressurization to the metal cheaper to buy in bulk, to a folksy story about a misunderstood order from an Admiral. Whatever the cause, directly beneath the mirror was her toiletries kit, a stamp of “Normandy, RUSH” on the top. She smiled internally, though her face remained placid and blank, wondering for how long Anderson had intended to pull her onto The Normandy. _Bastard would probably be willing to knock me down to Ensign and make me gunnery officer if it made the rest of the Admiralty agree._

Kathryn opened the bag, pulling out a red, blank lipstick, sporting a hand-written label on the barrel that read “Blood Red”. Physically smiling to herself, she uncapped it and applied it to her lips, checking them in the mirror as she crisply replaced the lid, placing the lipstick back in her kit. A memory bubbled to the surface, her mother in the old Alliance Working uniform, plain blue and black, standing in front of a similar mirror with an identical tube of lipstick. As she had applied it, Kathryn had pulled at her legs, asking why she wore makeup when they were on a ship. Her mother had checked her lips in the mirror before turning and squatting down in front of her daughter, explaining matter of factly: “Sweetie, you know how mommy wears armor when the badguys shoot at her?” Shepard had nodded. “And the armor stops the bullets from hurting mommy and helps mommy to defeat them?” Shepard had nodded again. This time her mother had pulled up the lipstick, holding it in front of both of their faces. “Well, this is mommy’s armor when the bad guys aren’t shooting at her. It helps to protect her off of the battlefield.” At the time, Shepard had simply nodded, smiled, and returned to playing in the stateroom. But when her mother presented her with the stick labelled “blood red” at her commissioning ceremony, when Shepard began to use it, she learned exactly what her mother meant.

After she was done, Shepard walked over to the door, taking a third deep breath before opening it and stepping out. The past 54 hours had been nonstop, but through it there had been one question in the back of her mind since she left Earth. Commander Shepard was a woman of impeccable composure, the epitome of cool professionalism to all but a few. She was assertive, commanding, proficient, creative, effective, every inch an Alliance Officer and every millimeter an N7 Operative. But beneath the veneer, beneath the rank, was a woman who was watching the world fall apart around her and was missing the one thing, one person, that could help her most during it.

_Dammit, Garrus, Loathe as I am to admit it, I need you._

With that, she stepped outside, her boots making crisp sounds in the enclosed landing outside her stateroom door.

Normandy Deck 1, 2500 Hours (37 Hours Later)

Shepard sat working at her desk, struggling to keep her mind focused on the mission report in front of her, wiggling her toes, as she heard her stateroom door open, the sound of two armored feet making their way inside.

“Shepard, need me for something?”

Suppressing a smile – _The galaxy is burning, now is not the time for smiling –_ she turned around, greeted by one Garrus Vakarian. His armor had changed, all silver and blue now rather than the black and blue that he seemed to favor after so many years in Csec, The new look was good, shiny, clean, and given the instant recognition of even the ground soldiers on Menae and the out-of-place gold collar, she wondered if it wasn’t a uniform. _Of course Garrus would wear his armor uniform around the ship._

Shepard gestured with her hand while she spoke, waving Garrus over as she turned to show him the terminal.

“Yeah, Garrus, I was wondering if you would be willing to give me your input on my after action report.”

Garrus raised an eyebrow, or at least a plate, before walking over, placing one hand on the desk and one hand on the back of her chair as he leaned over, eyes scanning the report. She looked up to see the scarred side of his face, the tissue having healed, if not prettily than at the very least completely, leaving the right side of his face still pockmarked and wrinkled, but healed nonetheless. His mandibles fluttered slightly as he read, though the rest of his jaw remained immobile, his eyes moving back and forth across the screen and a low rumbling coming from his chest. He stood up, nodding and taking two steps back, crossing his arms and leaning against the head wall.

“Looks fine to me, Shepard, though I think you missed out the part where I saved you from all the Brutes.”

Shepard raised an eyebrow, smiling thinly as she rolled her eyes, shooting back a retort quickly.

“Oh, yes. Obviously I had nothing to do with the two who I shot dead. By the way, is that what we’re calling them now?”

“It’s the name our boys on the ground came up with. Seems appropriate to me.”

“Yeah.”

With that, silence fell on the room heavily, awkwardly, smoothing any conversation or thought therein as both occupants eyes’ darted back and forth throughout the scene in front of them, anywhwere but the other. Garrus was the first to talk, clenching one fist in front of him as he turned towards the door.

“Well, Shepard, if that’s all you needed I’ll…”

“Wait.”

Shepard’s words were soft, but not pleading, very definitely a command. She held up a hand as she stood up, Garrus turning around and cocking one hip out, and amused smile making its way to his mandibles as he crossed his arms, fixing Shepard with a stare. Silently, she gestured towards the couches, bowing her head while she did so but still maintaining eye contact, letting Garrus lead as he sat down on the side facing her closet, she on the side that backed up to her desk. She leaned back, resting the coffee cup she had taken with her in her left hand in her lap, crossing her legs comfortably and looking at Garrus, the outwards epitome of composure. Garrus struck a similar pose, though in lacking the coffee cup he spread both arms on the top of the couch, an action Kathryn thought no small feat given his shoulder armor, but which he still managed. Inside, however, both were feeling nerves turn their stomachs like a fighter in a firefight and the adrenaline make their heart beat the most audible sound in the room. Shepard started, her voice level if not slightly jocular, Garrus’ replies the same.

“Garrus, I’m not certain if I was entirely clear in the main battery.”

“Oh? I found you to be perfectly understandable?”

“You did?”

“Yes, I now know the precise protocol on human reunions. Seems a little personal for me, and don’t expect me to use it with The Primarch or Wrex any time soon, but your explanation was… effective.”

Shepard laughed, slightly, nervously, her eyebrows lowering as she glared at Garrus slightly.

“Yes, yes. But you know what I mean, Garrus. I’m not certain I made my intentions… known.”

“Intentions, Commander?”

“Intentions, Advisor.” At this point, the awkwardness and nervousness and unsteadiness Kathryn was feeling bubbled into her voice, it’s steady joviality giving way to slight unassuredness, entirely devoid of both the confidence she had begun the conversation with, and certainly of the forward confidence she had displayed at their earlier reunion in the forward battery. This was the Kathryn Shepard that the crew would never see, that all of three people had ever seen, one of whom was dead on Virmire, one of whom was running a desperate resistance movement on Earth, and one of whom was sitting in front of her. This was the vulnerable Kathryn, the emotional one; this wasn’t the Commander that killed Reapers and defeated Collectors, yelled down Rogue Spectres and survived Prothean Beacons, this was the woman behind all of that, on whom all of that was built. The same strength was present, the same resilient determination and hard resolve that made her so successful, but the utter confidence in her abilities, the cool commanding bearing she maintained at all times, were missing.

“At least, intentions might be the word for it? Alright, Garrus, I’m going to be entirely honest, I’m not a wordsmith. What we had before I was taken off of active duty was wonderful, I enjoyed it thoroughly and have never really felt happier in my life. And I want that again. You’re here, and I don’t think I could let this go, so here I am. If you don’t want to, pick up where we left off, I’ll respect that. But I do, so I’m telling you that.”

Garrus, whose eyes had never left hers and whose mandibles remained unmoving nodded, looking down slightly, thoughtfully peering past the table. Shepard’s heart beat harder, she could feel it palpitating inside her chest, threatening to burst her ribs. Time slowed down and she watched each individual twitch of Garrus’ neck muscles, counted each moment in the infinite stream that divides one time from the next as she waited for an answer, frozen.

Eventually, Garrus spoke.

“I’m with you, Kathryn, every step of the way.”

Kathryn stopped breathing as Garrus brought his eyes back up to meet her gaze, raising his eyebrows slightly and flaring his mandibles, a small Turian smile. Kathryn’s reaction was not so tame.

Her face erupted into a dangerously big smile and Garrus found himself quickly knocked down by the force of the Galaxy’s most feared soldier impacting him at whatever speed was possible in the meter between them, hugging, almost clinging, to his neck. He chuckled, embracing her back as he eventually peeled her off.

“And what would your crew do if they saw you like that, Kat?”

Kathryn smiled at the use of his old nickname for her, nodding her head slightly and chuckling to herself, genuinely chuckling, with no reservation about the state of the galaxy or the scope of their mission. When she spoke, however, her voice had become precise, almost severe, the dictation of Commander Shepard rather than the conversation of Kathryn Shepard.

“They won’t. Garrus, you know how I like to act for my crew. We have to stay utterly professional when we’re not alone.”

“I think I can do that.”

Shepard smiled again, patting his thigh as she stood up, walking over to the closet to switch out her duty shirt and shoulder pads for her well-worn N7 hoodie.

“I’d be disappointed otherwise. Want to stay for dinner, it’s a deluxe course of protein bars and galactic panic?”

“Sounds appetizing.”

“Certainly better than Gardner’s cooking.”

“That’s not hard. I never thought I would find myself wishing for old Turian military rations.”

“No kidding. And yet…”

Their conversation continued as the two relaxed, lasting no longer than half an hour but still feeling like ages, a short respite after the hectic destruction which had consumed their last couple of days. As Kathryn talked she smiled internally at how at home Garrus was able to make her feel, not gushing affection or calling pet names like some girls she had heard, she was not that kind of woman. She was, however, certainly the kind of woman whom the right man could make feel utterly at home, for whom the right smile and the right laugh and the right voice could make all the terrible tragedy of a universe burning evaporate for even a moment. She smiled at his jokes, and laughed at the not-bad ones, telling stories herself that got occasionally raucous and loud, but what she enjoyed the most was the comfortability of this one Turian. The smell he brought, of gun oil and hot machinery with an undertone of some Turian cologne she had no hope of guessing; the witticisms and dry, if not macabre, sense of sarcasm that helped the pressure of all the galaxy feel slightly more manageable; the history between them, shared experiences from the center of the galaxy to the rogue spectre; all of it put her at ease. Shepard was still ready to take on the universe, calmly look the Reapers in the eye as she crushed them beneath the heel of her steel-toed boot; but Kathryn found herself quite at home. 


	3. Negotiations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard steps to the Negotiating table to broker alliances which will save the galaxy.

Normandy Starboard Observation Lounge, 0600 Hours

Kathryn stood facing the window, staring at the stars which sat beyond and the blue wisps of FTL travel that lay between them, a steaming cup in her hands. When she first awakened on Lazarus station, the stars had been cold, inviting her to her death again and reminding her of the vacuum which awaited her outside her windows constantly; a predator waiting to strike as it had once before. She couldn’t bear to look at the dead space around the ship, closing the view-port in her stateroom and even requesting Joker close the shutters around his cockpit when she was in, the cold sweats and apprehensions unbearable as she reached back for phantom air-tubes and clutched at no-longer present hardsuits. As the mission wore on, however, she found herself becoming more and more tolerant of them, fear evolving into respect for the death that could await her out there as she came to realize that her death by vacuum was no less likely than collector or geth or reaper – _or now Cerberus._ The stars, the blackness beyond the window, the void between herself and the next slice of life came to be a place of contemplation, a fair but unyielding mistress of the unknown, benign to those who protected themselves, vicious to those who failed. The blackness became a cloak in which the future was wrapped, a covering for futures and events and battles yet unknown, undecided, just as her death had been ,  a slight solace of possibility on nights or mornings when the future seemed dim in comparison to the twilight of the last day and the path shrouded in misty doubt.

The doors slid open behind her, awakening her from her reverie, a slight intake of breath the only marker as her eyes continued to stare outwards. Garrus walked up beside her, a cup of something hot and dextro in his hands which she had yet learned was the Turian equivalent of coffee, the smell vaguely dusty. He stood next to her, matching her gaze into the vastness outside the window, silent, until she saw his head angle forwards and her eyes focused on his reflection, his eyes meeting hers in the reflection. When he spoke, it was softer, his subharmonics kept low and his voice soft.

“Are you hiding, Shepard?”

Kathryn laughed slightly, mildly raising an eyebrow as she responded.

“Hiding from what?”

“Well, I passed Vega cooking something on my way for bathka, and it smelled vaguely like armor-varnish. Not exactly the way I picture my ‘full and complete breakfast.’ “

Another chuckle, a sip of coffee.

“I think he was making eggs, smelled pretty decent, I’m not responsible for how your nose interprets it. I’ve heard rocket blasts tend to mess with your sense of smell.”

 Garrus chuckled lowly, taking another sip from his drink, the sounds strangely loud from his lack of lips. Silence permeated the room as the two stood, looking out. While intangible, the silence was familiar to both of them, the same silence that came from a shuttle before it landed, from a field before a lone sniper shot. It was the sound of preparation, the blanketing apprehension for events yet to come, a mix of confidence and fear so potent that silence was the only medium capable of carrying it. Garrus spoke again, after a few minutes, making eye contact again in the reflective aspect of the window.

“You ready, Kat?”

“For what, Garrus?”

“Make galactic peace, unite races which have been fighting for over a thousand years, save the galaxy? You know, the usual?”

Kathryn closed her eyes and laughed slightly through her nose, a small smile appearing on her face.

“All in a day’s work?”

“On the Normandy, absolutely.”

They paused again, the silence this time impregnated by the comments about to be made, Shepard becoming increasingly aware of her breathing, of Garrus’, of the shifts of their bodies in their armors – his hard and designed to withstand physical impacts, hers formal and intended to deflect diplomatic attacks. The feeling hung in time like a diver at the peak of his dive, Shepard’s senses becoming more sensitive, the world coming into focus in every aspect and her mind concentrating her last vestiges of self doubt before steeling itself for the task yet to come.

“This will be one for the record books, that’s for sure.”

“You’re not nervous, are you?”

Again, Kathryn closed her eyes and laughed, bowing her head slightly this time, eyes twitching with a scowl as she did so. When she spoke, it was barely louder than a whisper, an admission of perceived weakness in front of an unforgiving judge and jury, to the one turian she trusted enough to do so.

“How could I not be, Garrus? We’ve done so much, come so far, but nothing even begins to add up to this. We’ve fought a rogue spectre, gone to the center of the galaxy, but we’ve never faced this. This is war on a galactic scale. Billions of people are dying by the minute, and I’m expected to stop it? By what? Convincing Turians and Krogan to play nice? While the Asari run off and pretend nothing’s happening and Earth is left to fend for itself? Dammit, even if I get them all to work together today, I’m not sure how much good it will do… I’m no politician, I’m no great leader. I’m just a soldier. With a team. A damn good team, but I’m not this savior everybody seems to think I am…”

By the time Kathryn stopped, she was almost in tears, the hysteria of her situation barely contained behind a strained voice and glassy eyes and trembling lips. Her hands shook as she brought her coffee to her lips, taking a small and tentative sip as the heat and bitterness of the drink grounded her slightly, before she felt the cup be removed from her grip. Garrus took the mug gently from her and walked over to place it on the table, walking back and turning Kathryn to face him, his head angled down and eyes making intense contact with hers as he gripped her on either side of her shoulders.

“Kat, look at me.”

Kathryn continued to look down, struggling to regain her composure, to force her doubts back into the dark cage in the back of her mind where she so often kept them, denying them as ardently as she could, pretending as best she could to forget that they existed.

“Kat…”

She looked up, her eyes watering noticeably as she stared into Garrus’.

“Listen to me. There’s a saying in the Turian military when recruits are given their first rifle: A cannon and pistol are aimed the same way, all that changes is the picture. This is a bigger fight, Shepard, but you’re a bigger soldier than you were. And despite what you say, you are a leader, a great one too. You don’t have to be a savior, just be you, be the leader and soldier you’ve been since I’ve known you, and that will be enough. You don’t have to save the Galaxy, Shepard, just lead the team that will. You did it before, and you’ll do it again: That fire you have, the intensity and focus, the drive and unwillingness to accept defeat, people will follow you to hell and back for that. I did. So did Wrex, and Liara, and Tali, and Mordin, and everybody else we’ve had on this ship.”

Kathryn began to smile slightly as Garrus saw the fire light behind her eyes, the blue becoming more vibrant and the water disappearing to seem to reveal a clear, hardened glass, windows to a dogged will which could over-power Reapers and save galaxies if it needed.

“People think you’re this savior not because you save them from the danger, but prove to them that they can save themselves. You pull them out of their own self-doubt, out of their own comfortable shelter and show them that they can fight, that there is another way. You’ve always done that, you do it naturally. You don’t need to be anything more than yourself to win this. You don’t need to be anything but Commander Shepard, the woman who led a team to catch a Rogue Spectre, who defeated the Collectors, the Woman who is the greatest relief to her allies and the biggest fear of her enemies. They will follow you, Shepard. So just go remind them of that.”

Kathryn’s smile became slightly more rye as her eyes glanced downwards, peering through Garrus’ neck and Cowl a thousand yards away, and Garrus watched as he saw the last bit of doubt leave them, the fierce confidence and absolute determination lighting behind them, her brow set, her face a mask of action, the face of Commander Shepard. She reached up slowly, grabbing the front of his cowl and pulling him down to her, bringing her soft human lips to his hard Turian plates before angling her head, their foreheads coming together in a Turian sign of affection. She spoke softly, fondly, slightly above a whisper but no less heart-felt.

“Thank-you, Garrus. What would I do without you?”

Garrus chuckled slightly, the vibbrations of his subharmonics being felt by Shepard through his head as she reached forwards and took both his hands in hers.

“Probably kick ass and save the galaxy still, but with so much less style.”

Shepard laughed, this time in earnest, a heartier laugh that felt real and confident and when she looked up, took a step back, he could see the victory already posing in her eyes as she turned, walking backwards through the couches towards the door.

“Well, then let’s go do that, but with all the rocket-blasted style you bring.”

Garrus laughed too, crossing his arms and cocking his hips as he turned to face her.

“Never going to let me live that down, are you?”

The call came from over The Commander’s shoulder as she had turned to walk squarely out the door, halfway to the elevator as she called out behind her and through the closing door.

“Never, Garrus.”

Normandy Conference Room, 0900 Hours

“We uplifted the krogan to do one thing: wage war. It’s all they know because it’s all we wanted them to know.”

Shepard could feel her frustration boiling before then, Wrex and The Primarch clearly willing to cooperate, but The Dalatrass’ blatant racism threatening to destroy the entire pretense of peaceful negotiatons. That comment, however, was the last straw, and Shepard’s hand came down with enhanced-strength on the table, her open palm making a sound not unlike a gunshot that silenced the room as she began to speak, commanding rather than demanding credence with the steel in her voice. Though she had raised her voice slightly, her words remained carefully chosen and precisely spoken, her annunciation becoming clearer as she felt her anger focus her more, the frustration boiled down into a raw intensity which concentrated her mind and sentiment.  

“Enough! Dalatrass, I am done listening to your thinly veiled racism. The Krogan have paid enough for their mistakes, and it is time we gave them a chance to prove that they’re more than you assume them to be. Because if you’d read your history, Dalatrass, you’d see that The Krogan had a golden age before, that they built a civilization that included art and expression, that was so much more than your limited assumption of purely war-driven creatures. The Krogan have not only known war because it was all you wanted them to know, the Krogan have only known how to wage war because it is what you have forced them to do. Well, it’s about damn time we let them know more, gave them the opportunity to become an integrated part of the Galactic Community again. We need their support against the Reapers, need that warrior drive and unending endurance that has made them so feared that you sterilized them rather than fight conventionally. And if we have to give them a future in return, that is a deal I am more than willing to make.”

The Dalatrass stared at Shepard open-mouthed, as she finished, dropping her eyes from Shepard’s burning glare before taking a step back, shaking her head in indignation. Shepard looked to Wrex, receiving another brusque nod before the Turian spoke up, drawing all of their attention back to him.

“Whether or not they deserve a cure is academic. It would take years to formulate one.”

Wrex’s response was defensive, with perhaps a spark of hope, though Shepard couldn’t believe she would ever hear something so cheerful from the old Krogan.

“My information says otherwise.”

Wrex walked over, pushing the Primarch slightly out of the way as he took over the video screen on the forwards wall of the room, the Primarch nodding his consent as he got out of the way. The screen came to life and Shepard saw a recording of an STG operative walking through one of their bases while Wrex explained the benefit of Maleon’s work, however monstrous it may have been. Immediately the Dalatrass started spurting denials, a pattern Shepard had seen so often before, lighting Wrex into a passionate argument and the Primarch into a pointed question. Again, Shepard could feel her patience wearing thin.

“How will curing the genophage benefit my people?”

The room turned towards Shepard who stood silently at her end of the table, looking down at the terminal in front of her. After a minute of silence, she spoke, her voice quiet but intense, frigid in her tone and lethally exacting. Shepard looked down while she spoke, the other delegates leaning in to hear her, but when she finally looked up at The Dalatrass, her eyes could be described as nothing but deadly.

“Last time I checked, Dalatrass, you were in no position to combat the Reapers alone. Earth and  Palavan are being decimated by their forces at the same time, and I’m sure Sur’kesh is not too far behind. So unless you want to be standing in the corpses of your entire race and held responsible for their genocide by these monsters, I might take a minute to consider what you just said. If you’re going to avoid slaughter, then you’re going to have to accept alliances with us, because otherwise your world and your people are going _burn_. And we might have come to save you, but perhaps we’ll just reciprocate an attitude like yours and let them eviscerate you; since the time it gives us would, what was it you said? ‘Benefit my people?’ “

Silence hung in the room as Shepard’s words rang in all everyone’s ears as she cringed internally, wondering if she might have taken it too far, the dalatrass still reeling from her attack, backed up almost to the bulkhead, staring. Shepard took in a breath through her mouth and exhaled it through her nose, relaxing her eyes that had narrowed as she talked and began again, her voice softer now, though no less commanding.

“Dalatrass I don’t want more people to die than have to. We’re here to save our races. But if these negotiations fall through, if you refuse to cure the Genophage, this is going to turn out to be a very short war for the Salarians.”

At this point the Primarch stepped in, recovered from the shock of hearing the threats Shepard delivered.

“And I’ll be the last friendly Turian you ever see.”

The Dalatrass bowed her head, massaging the expanse of flesh between her eyes and her mouth. When she spoke, she sounded defeated, disappointed, though Shepard doubted the other two present cared half as much as she did, which was very little to begin with.

“The females are being kept at one of our STG bases on Sur’Kesh.”

Before she had finished her statement, Shepard, Wrex, and Victus were all turning to walk out of the room, going to make various preparations for their assumed imminent departure for Sur’Kesh. The Dalatrass continued, seeing their movements and yelling in protest.

“You’re not setting foot on Sur’Kesh! This will take time to – “

This time, it was Victus who interrupted her, hostility and annoyance present in his subharmonics as he spoke.

“It happens now. As a Spectre, Shepard can oversee the exchange.”

Shepard turned, speaking over her shoulder as she stood at the door, her voice once more icy and commanding,  

“We’re going.”

She, Wrex, and Victus walked out, all tuning out the desperate protests of the inflamed Dalatrass as they left.

Normandy Deck 1, 1700 Hours

Garrus leaned back on the couch, laughing heartily while Shepard laughed across from him, moving the “meat” that came in her ration pack around on her plate.

“You actually said that, Shepard?”

“I sure did, yep.”

“And they believed you?”

“I can be pretty convincing when I need to be.”

Garrus used his utensils to take a bite of his own dinner, followed by a drink, after which he continued laughing mildly, Kathryn following suit.

“How many other people know you didn’t mean it?”

“Wrex definitely knows, and I think the Primarch figured it out. Mainly I just needed to shock her into allowing negotiations to continue, otherwise I was scared Wrex was going to throw her through the bulkhead.”

“Well, nobody will ever say you don’t have a… unique, way of negotiating, Kat. Do you think she’s going to hold it against you?”

Shepard swallowed, nodding thoughtfully before she answered.

“I think she’ll be a little sore about it, yes. But I’ve seen a few Spectre reports cross my desk saying that the Dalatrass’ position is wildly unpopular with her military, and it’s a distinct possibility that whether or not she supports me will be academic.”

“So we’re on our way to Sur’kesh now, huh?”

“That we are, yes.”

Garrus nodded slowly as he took another bite of his food, finishing his plate before sliding it forwards on the table.

“How messy do you think it’s going to get down there?”

Shepard licked her lips as she swallowed her last bite bringing her nutrient drink to rest in her hands as she sat farther back in the couch, thinking.

“Assuming Wrex doesn’t get any ‘good’ ideas, it should be pretty peaceful. We’ll still bring a team, though, still be outfitted for combat. I think I’ll have the Marines standing by as well.”

“You don’t think that’s going to risk more of an incident?”

Kathryn shook her head, taking a sip of her drink before she answered.

“No. I think it will prove how serious we are to The Salarians, and make Wrex feel better, guns have a weird way of putting him at ease.”

“We do pick up an odd crew, don’t we?”

“And now we seem to all be coming back together to save the universe.”

“Lucky us.”

Shepard smiled as she stood up, gathering her plate as she looked at Garrus who looked up, mandibles flaring in slight curiosity.

“Well I’m here, so you better consider yourself lucky!”

“uh huh.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, after my mild writer’s block yesterday, this is what came out today. I’m working on a chapter for John too, but this is what came out first when I sat down at my computer. I wanted to re-write the negotiation scene a little bit, since I think Kathryn would have a bit more to do with the negotiations than the stock conversation gives her in the game. I try not to play around too much with game conversation, usually just sticking to in-between missions and cutscenes and such, but this felt good.   
> As always, please tell me what you think, comments and critiques are always exceptionally appreciated, and above all else enjoy!  
> SotS


	4. Late Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On their way to Sur'Kesh, Shepard deals with some of the fears and stress the end of the Galaxy places on its possible savior.

Normandy Deck 1 – 0200 Hours

Kathryn sat up quickly, clutching at her chest as she breathed heavily, as though she had just finished running a Marathon. Her eyes began out of focus, swiveling across the room, illuminated by the blue glow of the fish-tank before they began to come back into focus, the mild enhancements by Cerberus bringing every detail into a higher fidelity than most humans would see in such light. She threw her comforters off, the cool air of the cabin nipping at the sweat which had developed across her entire body as she swiveled her legs to the floor, resting her elbows on her legs and scrubbing her face, wiping the cold sweat and fear from the nightmare off as best she could, but seeming to succeed in only one. Beside her, she felt a shift as the Turian next to her turned over, his voice deep and sub-vocals especially pronounced in his recently-awakened state.

“Kat, y’okay?”

Kathryn looked over her shoulder, sitting up and resting her hands on her thighs, breathing in as she did so, appreciating the feeling of the air in her lungs in contast to the airless, cold vacuum that she had awoken from. She spoke softly, her voice barely more than a whisper, though whether it was from her fatigue or fear of it cracking, she couldn’t, wouldn’t admit.

“Yeah, Garrus, I’m fine.”

Again she felt the bed move behind her as Garrus sat up, moved himself next to her and sat down beside her, taking her hand in his as he did so, matching her gaze to the deck plating in front of them. Two years ago his hands would have felt alien, plated and scaly with too few fingers, but as eight fingers found homes within each other, it was nothing but comfortable. His voice had a slightly more normal sound to it, though his subvocals were still deeper than normal.

“Kathryn, we both know that’s not true.”

Shepard sighed, closing her eyes and bowing her head as she took in another deep breath and exhaled again, placing her other hand on top of Garrus’, squeezing it ever so slightly. She chuckled slightly as she did so, looking up at garrus with a rye smile. Her voice was still quiet, feeling obligated by the soft hum of the ship around her than necessity. 

“You always were on to me, weren’t you, Vakarian?”

Garrus chuckled lowly in response, giving Kathryn’s hand a small squeeze in response, causing her to blink slowly and smile again.

“I try. Now, what’ bothering you?”

Shepard took in a third deep breath, in through her mouth and out through her nose, before turning and swiveling herself on the bed, sitting cross-legged in front of Garrus, who did as close to the Turian equivalent as he could, She reached out with her other hand and took his, feeling both points of connection poignantly as she began to talk, almost clinging to them for support. Emotional discussions were points of sore ineptitude for her, something she had tried for as long as she could remember to avoid, to pretend she didn’t need. The vulnerability, the unpredictability of her emotions alarmed her, made her wary of acknowledging or even discussing them, refusing to open up sometimes to even herself for the sake of denying their capricious control over her. She held onto Garrus’ hands as a boat to a peer in a storm, tying herself to his grip as she ventured into the raging storm that she had woken up to, knowing she needed to but fearing it no less for it. Her voice was stronger, voice overcoming whisper as she spoke earnestly, accepting whatever cracks would appear, looking between her hands and Garrus’ ever-attentive eyes as she spoke, slowly.

“I had another nightmare, but not the forest one. This time it was… it was you. The rest of The Normandy crew.”

Quietly tears began to fall as her trembling lips and watering eyes broke, the emotions that had been held at bay flooding through as she remembered the images, the sounds, such vivid dreams as she had not had since Akuze. Garrus squeezed her hand, rubbing his thumbs over the backs of her hand while she struggled to recompose herself, taking one hand away to wipe her face with the sheets next to her before she continued, her voice soft and struggling not to break as she spoke.

“You were, back. On Earth, I mean. At least, I think it was Earth, I don’t know. But everything was burning, falling, you, the ship, the rest of the crew. And I…” Another gasp for breath as she fought down sobs “I wasn’t there. I failed you. I failed… to win, to keep you safe…”

At this Shepard fell apart, her composure unwinding as the sobs racked her body, Garrus shifting slightly until he was next to her, his left arm reaching around her and bringing her close, rocking her body gently side to side while she cried and gasped and sobbed, pretested images of a future she never wanted to imagine against a universe which refused her rest, raging against a possibility she could not help but never admit but for these too quiet nights with too unknown futures. Eventually she calmed herself, her breaths still coming in ragged breaths but not unpredictable gasps as she reeled herself back in, wiping her eyes as she sat up, Garrus leaving one arm around her as she took his other one.

“Dammit, Garrus. I’m sorry. You don’t, you shouldn’t need to hear this.”

“Shepard…”

“No, I need to be stronger. I shouldn’t let something like my own emotions get in the way of you getting a good night’s sleep, I’m sorry to wake you.”

“Shepard, stop.”

His voice was not loud, nor hard, but the statement was most certainly a command and not a request. She stopped, raising her head which had been staring through the bed directly in front of her to meet his eyes, peering deep into them as he returned her gaze. His voice softened as he continued, becoming softer, his subharmonics lower and playing with emotion.

“Shepard, how many more times to I have to sit at your six and tell you I’m here for you? I always have been, and always will be. I wouldn’t be skipping into hell with you if I weren’t. So stop saying I don’t need to hear this, because I do. I am always here for you, whether it’s killing reapers for you or shooting Cerberus for you or even just listening to Nightmares.”

Shepard smiled slightly as Garrus’ reply came through, appreciating the small cock-sure jokes he included. She knew he didn’t mean them, that he was as serious as could be. But he also knew how uncomfortable vulnerability on this scale made her, and would do everything he could to help her through it, even if it meant throwing a few jokes in.

“Now, Kat, what’s wrong.”

Kathryn’s smile left immediately and her eyes stared farther through the bead and the deck plating beneath it, farther through the ship and the great expanse beneath it into a thousand futures she could imagine where a thousand bullets killed her a thousand times, and a thousand more where Garrus’ life was the one ended by a thousand bullets, and a million more where the Reapers won and the Galaxy fell because of her failure, because of her inadequacies. When she spoke, it was into Garrus’ arm, with a voice that sound almost broken, as though resting on a last straw that had yet to crack when the weight of the galaxy fell on it.

“Dammit, Garrus, I’m scared.”

“I’d be worried if you weren’t.”

Kathryn sat up, extricating herself from Garrus’ arms as she stood up, walking over to the fishtank to stand in front of it, watching the fish drift lazily up and down in the water, hands crossed around her chest and head bowed into it.

“No, Garrus. I’m scared. Like I’ve never been before. I’m scared that I’m going to fail. Like I failed Ash. Like I failed you. Like I failed everybody on Akuze.” Her voice got quieter as tears began to fall down her cheeks again, silently, concentrated fear and sorrow and desperate wish for better days streaming down her cheeks. “I’m so damn terrified, Garrus.”

Garrus stood up, walked over to her softly, his un-booted feet much quieter on the exposed deck plating, stopping next to Shepard. He reached out and turned to her, pulling her in to a hug which she readily welcomed, the height difference causing her head to fall just below his cowl. Shepard continued, softly.

“I thought I had this under control after this morning, after the talks. But everything’s going to hell, Garrus. It’s all crumbling around us, and sometimes I don’t think I can stop it. Even if I do, even if we win, what the hell is going to be left? Burnt worlds and broken people? Dammit I don’t want that, I don’t want that future. And it scares me, Garrus. The Reapers, the war, hell even the fact that I’m scared scares me, how screwed up is that?”

Garrus reached a hand up and started combing it through Kathryn’s short dark-brown hair, running his talons through it as he spoke, softly, pressing his mouth plates to the top of her head as he did so.

“Kathryn, it’s okay that you’re scared. We all are. If you weren’t scared of the sentient death machines, I think I’d be more worried. Everybody is scared of what’s coming, what’s happening, everybody doesn’t know what will be left even if we win. That’s okay.”

“No, Garrus, not for me. I’m not allowed to be scared. The Commander can’t be scared.”

“Kat, I don’t care what upgardes Cerberus gave you, you’re still human. You’re allowed to be scared, just like the rest of us. And even if you don’t want to show it to the crew, I’m with you. You don’t have to worry about not showing me. There’s nothing weak in fear, just in letting it conquer you.”

Kathryn looked up, her wet eyes looking Garrus in his as her tears dried out and the streams down her face slowed down. Her voice was bitter, angry, resentment of what she saw as her own weakness spitting out of it like acid, but aimed only at herself.

“Look at me, I’m breaking down! If this isn’t letting it win, then I don’t know what the hell is. I don’t know who the hell is supposed to save the Galaxy, but it sure as hell isn’t this wreck.”

She tried to push away, angrily, but Garrus kept holding on, not tightly but just firmly enough to foil her escape attempt, the energy and passion and anger with which she tried to separate evaporating as quickly as it came.

“You’re not letting it win, you’re acknowledging it. Nothing wrong with that. I know you. You’ll get up tomorrow and put on your armor and go down to Sur’kesh. You’ll come back and we’ll find a way to cure the genophage. Then you’ll go around and you’ll drum up support until we kick the Reapers back into whatever black hole they came from. But the entire time, Kat, you’ll get up, and you’ll make your rounds and you’ll report in, and you’ll answer every inane message you get and run every questionable mission Hackett sends you on, and you’ll keep doing it day after day. Because you don’t let fear conquer you. Letting fear win isn’t not feeling fear, it’s keeping on in face of it.”

“I don’t know if I can do that.”

“I do, and I know you will. And I know I’ll be here, every step of the way, to calibrate whatever needs calibrating and take every headshot you need taken.”

Kathryn laughed slightly at the joke as his words sank in, bolstering her faltering confidence and giving her hope where previously she didn’t feel she had any. His warmth radiated thorugh the thin sleeping shirt he wore and she could feel it against her body, hotter than  a normal human body temperature. _He believes in me, he honestly does. At least that makes one of us. But if he believes, then maybe that’s enough._

Eventually she lifted her head, drying her eyes with his shirt as she spoke, taking a step back and putting her hands on her hips, her voice tentatively jocular.

“Did you just calibrate my emotions, Vakarian?”

Garrus’ mandibles flared in a grin she had come to love and his head tilted slightly, his body leaning gently against the fish tank in a faux-swagger that gave him a lovably rogue appearance.

“Everything needs one now and then.”

Garrus then stepped forwards, looking Shepard in the eye as he gripped her hands and she hers, and he continued, wrapping up the previous conversation in  a tone that was much more serious than the few quips and jokes that had just been thrown around.

“Don’t worry, Shepard. We’ll make it through this. We’re a team. There’s no Vakarian without Shepard, and the Reapers better fear that.”

Kathryn smiled weakly at Garrus, gripping his hands tightly as she spoke back, her voice gaining more strength.

“No Shepard without Vakarian.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I got a comment (elsewhere) that somebody would like to see a bit more of an emotional response from Shepard. So, I decided to take a crack at it, see what came out. This isn't as long as previous chapters, but I like to think it came out pretty well. Emotional scenes with Garrus are new, and I like to think I got his more sensitive side well, though it's honestly a bit hard to tell; and writing Kathryn as more than the constantly-composed leader required a bit of examination of her character, but again I like to think it turned out well. Let me know what you think, comments and feedback are greatly appreciated. Enjoy!
> 
> SotS


	5. Coming Up for Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Sur'Kesh, Garrus encourages Shepard to "come up for air"

Normandy Deck 1, 1400 Hours

Garrus walked in through the door, hard and armored boots clanging against the deck plating as he walked into the room, absorbed in the datapad he was holding, lists of figures and reports of movements scrolling past his eyes as his mind tackled the information it had learned to be bombarded with. He walked down the stairs before almost losing his footing, tripping over a chest-piece which he found laying on the floor, along with the rest of a familiar N7 armor set, not scattered but seemingly just left on the floor. He looked up, swivelling his head around until he found the owner, Kathryn sitting cross-legged on her chair in her undersuit as she was tapping away on her terminal, attention entirely directed at the document she was working on and a coffee cup easily within use, seemingly often used.

“Shepard, you want me to put away your armor.”

Kathryn didn’t look up, instead just responding with a sound that was a cross between a curious hum and a grunt, focus directed so wholly on her terminal that Garrus doubted she had even heard what he had said.

“Kathryn?”

“Hmm?”

The sound seemed to be more coherent this time, slightly more present with an iota of focus broken from the screen enough to turn her head a half a degree towards him, but her fingers failed to pause and he recognized the tongue sticking out from in-between her lips as one of incredible attention, knowing she had again heard almost nothing.

“Do you want me to put your armor through the cleaner? Or is it already clean?”

“Yeah, great. Thanks.”

“That was a multiple choice question.”

The response was out of what Shepard was expecting, garnering her attention as she finished her sentence and tore herself away from her terminal, looking at Garrus with raised eyebrows and a slightly crooked mouth, her face evolving into one of almost surprised curiosity as she engaged in the conversation. Garrus chuckled as he watched the response he had gotten so many times, mandibles flaring slightly in a mild grin as he responded, bending down to pick her armor up and placing it in the auto-cleaner.

“It’s alright, I’ll take care of it.”

Kathryn stood up, scrubbing her face and reaching as high as she could, relaxing and scrubbing her face as she walked down the stairs, picking up a few of the remaining pieces and helping Garrus finish putting her armor into the cleaner, grinning sheepishly as he levelled her with the “shouldn’t you have put this away earlier?” smile which she recognized. While festidious in her appearance and organized in her actions, Kathryn’s living habits were typically focused almost exclusively on her goals and tasks, the ship-board responsibilities she carried always trumping less critical concerns like cleanliness, often resulting in a slightly obstacle-ridden room, a paragon of organized chaos.

“Sorry, I got distracted by my mission report, guess I forgot to put away my armor.”

Garrus threw the datapad which he was carrying down on the table as he took a seat on the couch in the stateroom, crossing his legs and reaching for the water bottle he had left before leaning back, Kathryn taking the break in her productivity as an opportunity to change into her typical service uniform, a luxury which had, just like the armor, got occluded by the task at hand.

“Anything interesting in there?”

Kathryn laughed, her voice laden with sarcasm as she repsonded as she pulled her under-suit off and began to put on her shirt and combat pants.

“Well, let’s see, I told him about the smooth landing we had, Wrex’s strict addherence to landing protocols and procedures, the peaceful and smooth extraction of the female Krogan, and… oh yeah, the distinct lack of Cerberus assault teams. So, no, nothing really interesting.”

Garrus chuckled, taking another drink from his water bottle before he responded while Kat pulled on her belt and shoulder-pads, buckling the front strap on the shoulder assembly before snapping together the belt buckle, straightening her shirt and flattening the front.

“It was a pretty boring mission, not much I’d imagine that would be good to report.”

Kathryn finished securing all parts of her uniform with the exception of her boots, displaying them centered at the foot of the bed which she then sat down on, rolling her neck as she rubbed the back of it, trying to work out the knots that had become too familiar from staring at her terminal. 

“Absolutely. What did the Primarch have to say about it?”

“He made some comments about how well-trained our team was, particularly the job your Marines did at holding off some of the other ground forces. Seemed impressed.”

“An impressed Primarch? Well there’s my best achievement of the day. Any word from your task force?”

Garrus nodded, setting his water bottle down and leaning back into the couch, Shepard standing up and stretching her legs, the tightness of the past two hours in front of the terminal weighing heavily in her muscles.

“Not much, communications are still down for the most part around Palaven. I distributed them to the different armies, giving each General one of my higher operatives as a sort of “advisor”. They seem to be working well, giving the Generals confidence if nothing else.”

“Sometimes that might be all you need.”

“I know a few decimated platoons which might disagree, but it sure can go a long way.”

“Hell, Garrus, I think confidence is the only thing that kept us alive on the Collector base, confidence can carry you quite a ways.”

Garrus laughed, ducking his head slightly and shaking it as he recalled a few too many close calls than he’d prefer, a history of barely’s and almost’s which described his and Shepard’s service together.

“Might have had a thing or two to do with catching Saren too.”

“Maybe.”

Shepard stood up, making her way back to her terminal while her thoughts reorganized themselves inside of her head, paragraphs and sentances assembling as she brought to mind the landing and mission on Sur’Kesh, activating the terminal as she sat down and reached for her mug of coffee, taking a drink of the now room-temperature liquid before inhaling and exhaling largely through her mouth. Her eyes darted left and right and her tongue slowly made its way timidly past her lips while she reread her last paragraph before she put her hands back on the terminal and resumed her progress.

Garrus tracked her as she stood up and walked back over to her desk, standing up to follow her once she began typing again, standing behind her as he read the report over her shoulder, speaking as she began again.

“Kat, how long have you been working on that?”

Kathryn’s response was comprehensible this time and seemed to have broken away a moderate amount of concentration from the report, her voice still slightly absent of the typical acuity she spoke with as she focused on the words.

“Just a few hours.”

“And by a few, you mean…?”

Kathryn glanced quickly at the chronomoter at the top of her terminal before returning to work, answering Garrus tersely as she began to understood where his line of questioning was headed.

“About three.”

Garrus held the back of her chair, spinning her around until she was facing him, looking into her eyes as she let her hands falling into her laps, giving him a disgruntled glare as he noticed the black marks underneath her eyes. _If she’s been working on this for three hours, and started right after the mission, she’s been up for… twenty seven hours at this point._

“Kathryn, you need some sleep.”

Kathryn shook her head ardently, maintaining eye contact as she tried to convey with her glare the degree to which she couldn’t allow herself rest, the belief which had driven her to her terminal initially and kept her planted there for three hours, had kept her in the war room examining movements and coordinating efforts for five hours before the Sur’Kesh mission, which had deprived her of sleep and pushed her to ignore the fatigue which was trying to drag down her eyelids.

“I can’t do that, Gar. I’ve got to get this report done, and then there are a million other things that need my attention. Sleep doesn’t win a galactic war.”

When Garus spoke his voice sounded equal parts bemused and concerned, a balance of opposites which had become so typical of the swaggeringly-awkward Turian.

“Neither do exhausted Commanders.”

Shepard laughed slightly, a small smile breaking through the imperative glare she was levelling Garrus with.

“Some people have said otherwise.”

Garrus raised an eyebrow plate, his deep blue eyes making contact with Shepard’s lighter shade. She simply smiled in response, large and disarming, filled with the mild whimsy and sarcasm which she used so often to difuse personal situations, often winning the argument.

“Besides, I just got dressed. You’re not going to make a girl get her uniform all fixed and squared away just to tell her to take it off and sleep, are you?”

Garrus rolled his eyes mildly, the Turian equivalent of the motion involving more head motion and mandible flaring than it’s human equivalent as he stood back, crossing his arms as his and Kathryn’s glares continued to spar.

“I just might, Shepard. You need a break, come up for air.”

Kathryn’s smile slid from her face as she realized that her humor had failed to work, continuing to stare Garrus down as she talked, beginning to spin her chair back towards her desk and reaching for her terminal as she did so.

“I’ll get some air, Garr, I promise. First I just need to finish this report. Afterwards, though, I promise.”

As she was nearing an angle at which she could reach her terminal Garrus reached out and stopped her chair, turning it back to face him as he received a look of much consternation from its occupant.

“You’ve given me that before, and it won’t work. If I’m not allowed to tell you I’m ‘in the middle of some calibrations’ any more, then you’re not allowed to do one more thing.”

Kathryn threw her hands up in mild surrender as she shook her head, extricating her crossed legs and standing up, walking down the stairs and back to the bed, sitting down heavily on it as Garrus resumed his seat on the couch. Her voice was an even mix of frustrated as it was thankful, the portion of her which was keenly aware of her level of exhaustion thankful for the out which Garrus had provided her, the portion which was determined that fatigue was nothing but a fact of mental-weakness still annoyed that she had been pulled from her work.

“Fine. But I can’t sleep for a full eight hours, Alliance Command needs the report in six. Will an hour nap satisfy you?”

Garrus stood up and walked over to the bed, sitting down next to Kathryn as she removed her shoulder pads and belt, looking at her as she was almost done, bringing his forehead to hers in a Turian expression of affection. She smiled as she felt the warm contact on her forehead, bringing her right hand up to softly cup his face as she brought her lips to his mouth plates, the junction of flesh and plate perhaps alien but no less familiar and no less appreciated. When Garrus spoke his voice was low, subharmonics laden with affection.

“Make it two hours and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

“Slave driver.”

“I’m not the one who made me pull Geth parts out of the Mako after every ground mission.”

“You volunteered for that and you know it.”

“Get some sleep Kat.”

Kat reached her hand up again as she kissed Garrus one more time on his mouth-plates, scooting up the bed and pulling her pillow down to meet her head. Garrus walked over to the bed-side terminal, dimming the lights in the stateroom before strolling back over to the couch, sitting down and picking his terminal back up, the information beginning to scroll once more over the surface as he heard Kathryn’s breathing become deeper, slower, her chest rising and falling softly as she began to drift to sleep. He tipped his head and looked towards her when he heard her speak softly, barely louder than a whisper, his response equally soft, the sounds travelling clearly over the white-noise that so regularly filled the stateroom.

“Garrus?”

“Yes?”

“Thank-you.”

“Any time, Kat.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I don’t know why, but I’m having trouble writing Kathryn. Her scenes just require a lot more massaging, a little bit more work to get them even close to decent. Admittedly, I’m still not convinced about this chapter, but I’ll put it out there anyways, hopefully you guys like it. Any feedback you have is highly welcomed and appreciated, I love hearing from you guys and concerns, comments, critiques, etc. always, always help. So please, talk to me, tell me what you think!
> 
> Above all, though, enjoy!
> 
> SotS


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